Mom, what was your grandmother's name?

Getting the name right isn't always possible in genealogy. I've learned to be open to alternate spellings, but the names of one matriarch really tested the limits of "also known as." She was our grandmother, great-grandmother and great-great-grandmother, but all three generations called her Babka, which is one of several Polish words for "grandmother."

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Posted May. 1, 2013 at 12:01 AM

Posted May. 1, 2013 at 12:01 AM

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Getting the name right isn't always possible in genealogy. I've learned to be open to alternate spellings, but the names of one matriarch really tested the limits of "also known as." She was our grandmother, great-grandmother and great-great-grandmother, but all three generations called her Babka, which is one of several Polish words for "grandmother."

Years ago, my sister Susan and I made an impromptu trip to locate Babka's former home near Pottsville. We'd been there only once, when I was about 8 years old, and we weren't even sure where to find the little town of Cumbola.

The two-hour drive gave us time to reminisce about our childhood memories of her home. She'd had a small, formal parlor, dimly lit and off limits to rambunctious kids. The spacious kitchen was more inviting — warmed by a wood and coal stove that filled the air with the aroma of her oven-baked goods. The feature we enjoyed most was the backyard with its stone steps leading up the hill to a small garden and orchard. Would they still be there?

We located the street — the little town only had one main drag — but neither of us remembered what the front of the house looked like.

We visited the local post office and the friendly clerk was eager to help.

"What was her last name?" His question stymied us.

Babka had a last name? Of course she did. We knew her name from her first marriage from which all of us were descended, but what was her second husband's name?

The clerk named several local families but nothing seem to fit. I excitedly suggested "Volmar," when it surfaced from some unknown memory, but it didn't ring any bells with him.

Susan and I decided to investigate the common alley that ran behind the houses along the main street. It was there that we spotted the trellis, and our forgotten memories came flooding back. It was bare then, but 17 years before, that trellis had been covered with vines and flowers and we imagined it was a magical gateway that transported us inner-city, row-homed kids into a wondrous, verdant garden. The house, the trellis and the steps remained, but the garden and orchard were only fond memories now.

When we returned home, I combed through my family history files, searching for the elusive name in the various official records that I had gathered over the years.

Babka was born in Schuylkill County in 1889. Her maiden name was written as Melonitz, Meloditz, Mollodye, Molodec and Molodecz — at least they all shared some common syllables.

After she got married in 1905, her new name appeared in documents as Demsky, Laszuncuka, Rozecucinski and Zeczusinsky. Incredible, but it was all the same person and the records proved it.

Her second husband's name was less confusing as Volak, Wolak and Wallick.

The fact that four languages were involved — Polish, Ukrainian, Greek and English — could explain some of the creative spellings, but even Babka's first name didn't remain intact, appearing as Irena, Mary, Ovena, Tiena and Veronica.

So where did I get Volmar? Sometime later I finally recalled the official document on which it appeared — the pedigree papers of my aunt's Weimaraner dog.